


Tardis, Cash Only II: Halloween

by cereal, gallifreyburning



Series: Tardis, Cash Only [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 13:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cereal/pseuds/cereal, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyburning/pseuds/gallifreyburning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/60338">Tardis, Cash Only AU</a>, where the Doctor owns a pub called the Tardis, and Rose and crew help him run it. Halloween at the pub and, possibly more importantly, finally sleeping together, not quite at the pub!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This may look familiar, if you follow Allison or me on Tumblr, as we played it as a fic tennis match. Which means: co-written with [gallifreyburning](http://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyburning/pseuds/gallifreyburning)!
> 
> * * *

The bricks are cold against Rose’s back, the snow silently swirling through the night air in the courtyard of the Powell Estate. She’s only got a denim jacket over her jumper, and a short skirt with thin leggings, and she ought to be shivering. But she’s burning, from the crown of her head to her toes, her skin scalding hot and her breathing practically nonexistent.

The Doctor is leaning against her, his hands splayed beside her shoulders, fingers gripping the wall like he’s holding on for dear life. Rose’s head is tipped back, bricks scratching her scalp. The Doctor is kissing his way down her jaw to her neck, taking his time, lips opening warm against her skin, tongue tracing circular patterns like he’s writing in some secret language, marking her.

He’s got his heavy overcoat on, and his jacket, and a ridiculous number of layers underneath that as well — at least three shirts. Her hands are around his back, tugging with gentle ineffectiveness where his shirts are tucked into his trousers. Her palms rest in the gentle dip just above each hipbone, dimples that she’s felt through his clothing dozens of times but never actually seen.

It’s been a month since she signed up — signed on — joined “Team Tardis,” as the Doctor jokingly calls it. A month since that first kiss after closing. It’s been the best month of her life — the job, the friends, the pub. And this …  _thing_  that she’s doing with the Doctor. They haven’t put words to it, exactly, all this hand-holding and snogging, the way they’ve locked step in practically everything, like the universe has always meant for them to be together.

Rose has spent the night at the Doctor’s exactly once — she’d fallen asleep on his couch, more precisely, halfway through a Harry Potter movie. And when she woke up in the morning, still on the couch, stretched alongside him, he’d called her a Muggle for falling asleep before it was over. She’d retorted that she had plenty of magical powers, and murmured  _wingardium leviosa_ before snogging him senseless and smirking at him when, indeed, her spell worked quite nicely. The Doctor had his hands beneath her shirt and she’d straddled his lap and things were moving along quite well, when Jack showed up at the window, yelling about the fact that a pipe had burst in the pub kitchen and everything downstairs was flooded.

There have been a neverending succession of late nights, the Doctor walking her back to the Powell Estate in the small hours of the morning, after the pub closes. And Rose doesn’t  _want_ to end up back at her mum’s flat every night, exactly. But she hasn’t minded, so much, the way everything has taken its time.

With Jimmy Stone, she’d fallen hard and fast and the relationship had gone the same way. With the Doctor, Rose wouldn’t deny she’s fallen hard and fast. But the way he isn’t pushing or demanding — he certainly  _wants_ , she sees that, feels it — but he’s treading slowly, as though he’s protecting her from something, as though he doesn’t want to spoil things.

On one hand, Rose feels safe and cherished, like they’re standing side-by-side at the edge of  _forever,_ about to leap together, and it’s exhilarating and breathtaking all at the same time.

On the other hand, Rose is desperate for a shag.

And as snow lands on her eyelashes, and the Doctor’s hips rock forward, pinning her completely against the wall as he sucks at the place where her shoulder joins her neck, _forever_ seems like something she’d like to get started on  _right now._

“Rose Marion Tyler! Quit makin’ a spectacle of yourself!” Jackie’s voice rings down from the window above, sharp in the cold night air. “Those shadows aren’t as dark as you think they are; everybody can see you clear as day!”

The Doctor jumps away from Rose like a cat hit with a cattle prod.

Rose grins, trying to wrangle her breathing back under control. In addition to the aborted attempts to take anything  _further_ , this part is also familiar – the Doctor skittering away from the sight, or the sound, of her mum.

“She’s not going to slap you, you know,” Rose says and he raises his eyebrows. “Well, she might, but you can take it.”

The Doctor looks flustered and horrified, “I’d rather not find out.”

Jackie’s voice echoes out clear above them, “You’re not speaking as quiet as you think you are either!”

Rose leans in for one last kiss and darts up the stairs, tossing a “Night!” over her shoulder and tugging the collar of her jacket up along the way. She’s  _nearly_  certain her mum wouldn’t actually slap him, but if she’s got a hickey or something, well, no need to put a hand on the scales.

A few knowing looks from her mum later and Rose is settled in her room. She peers through the window at the Doctor crossing through the courtyard on his way back to the pub, watching as he gets smaller and smaller until he’s finally disappeared.

~~~~~

The walk back from Rose’s flat is always longer and duller than the walk there.

Sometimes he’ll put in his headphones and listen to music, sometimes he’ll count his steps, and sometimes, like tonight, he’ll spend the entire time thinking about the soft, smooth skin of Rose’s neck, and the various other places her skin is probably just as soft and just as smooth.

It’s not for lack of  _wanting_  that he’s not encountered that other skin yet, and they’ve certainly made a few valiant attempts, but Rose’s skin has remained unseen and he’s gotten used to Wilf grinning and shaking his head each night when he returns home alone.

He’s got a hand up in greeting before he realizes Wilf isn’t alone.

“Oi! What are you doing out?” Donna’s standing next to her small car where it’s parked and idling, angled into the end of alley.

“Could ask you the same thing,” he says, because he’s not quite up for a discussion of what is or is not happening with Rose, regardless of his internal musings on the situation.

“It’s  _snowing_ ,” Donna says, gesturing at the sky. “Trying to make sure everyone sleeps indoors tonight.”

She finishes with a pointed look at Wilf, who is smiling happily at the two of them, like it’s afternoon tea.

“I told you,” Wilf says. “Don’t worry about me. When it’s too cold, I’ll leave. Probably won’t have another snow like this for months yet. I’ll be fine.”

The Doctor feels a flash of guilt, he hadn’t even thought to worry after Wilf. It was barely the heart of autumn yet and the snow had been a surprise, but still, it’s becoming more and more apparent that he’s only got one thing on his mind lately.

Donna claps her hands together, the noise dulled by the material of her gloves, “Right! You, in.” She points at Wilf and then to the car.

“You, up!” She points at the Doctor and then to the fire escape. “What does Rose think of you sneaking out at night anyway? Or have you done something embarrassing? Go off too soon?”

Wilf laughs, turning it into a cough as the Doctor snaps back, indignant, “Donna!”

“I hope I’m not speaking out of turn,” Wilf says cheerfully as he shuffles obediently toward the passenger seat of the blue vehicle. “But it isn’t really sneaking away if there isn’t anybody to be snuck away from.” He slips into the car, grinning ear to ear, and closes the door.

Donna’s got a look on her face like the Doctor’s just grown squid tentacles out of his mouth.

“She’s not up there?” Donna says, eyebrows lifting halfway to her hairline. “The way you two scarpered off after closing, everybody thought —”

“Good night, Donna!” the Doctor calls, lifting his hand in the air and waving as he spins around on the spot and tries not to jog to the fire escape ladder.

“Oi, barman, don’t you walk away from me!” Donna’s voice has the same ringing command to it that Jackie Tyler’s did half an hour ago, and the Doctor’s shoulders hunch involuntarily. He hops up, grabbing hold of the bottom rung and pulling the ladder down just as Donna catches up to him.

She snags his elbow, gripping so hard he can feel her fingers through his coat. She’s studying his face, reading something — she’s so good at that, the Doctor can never hide anything from her, not for long. Of course, Donna is brilliant at practically everything, except minding her own business.  

“You …” she squints at him “…you aren’t making her go home every night after you two — _noooooo_! You wouldn’t do that, you’re an ass sometimes, but not  _that_  much of an ass. In any case, Rose might be young, but she’s got enough self-respect not to put up with that kind of behavior.” Donna’s eyes widen. “Oh. My.  _God._  You two haven’t —”

“Goodnight, Donna,” he repeats, the words loud and squeaky, as he tries to scramble up the ladder. She doesn’t let go of his arm, and he executes an awkward half-hop maneuver as she yanks him back down. “Really, Donna, I don’t need to talk about this, there isn’t anything to talk about, really, if you’ll just —”

“If you lead her on, or if you’re a prat, I’ll kill you,” she says, smacking him on the shoulder with a smirk and a roll of her eyes. “And since you two were out tonight doing — whatever it is you do, you should know Astrid stayed late and helped me bake most of the soul cakes. There are just a few things to wrap up in the morning before we open, and we ought to be ready for the onslaught tomorrow. So get some rest, all right?”

Halloween is always a mad day; the pub doesn’t ever see any trick-or-treaters, of course, but they are packed wall-to-wall with uni kids. In addition to the extra kegs and bottles the Doctor stockpiles every year for the holiday, the Tardis is also well-renowned for their specialty soul cakes, a recipe Martha came up with a few years back and that became a permanent part of the Tardis seasonal menu, made only on Halloween.

Donna affectionately pats the same shoulder she’d just slapped a second ago, and strides off to Wilf and her car. The Doctor swings up onto the ladder, scrambling to the second floor and his flat, a big loft with a front door that always seems to go missing. As always, he climbs in the window instead.

Brushing his teeth, he thinks about his costume for tomorrow — another tradition in the Tardis, dressing up for any and every appropriate occasion. Halloween certainly qualifies. Rose has kept mum on the entire subject, whatever she’s got prepared for her own costume is a secret that not even Donna could crack. When the Doctor’s head hits the pillow, his unhelpful imagination conjures up a parade of Roses in Halloween costumes that would be wildly impractical for wearing in public.

By the time he drifts off to sleep, he feels like a kid on Christmas Eve, waiting to unwrap his present in the morning.

~~~~~

Rose is up early the next morning. She tries to go back to sleep, tosses and turns, does a mental inventory of the Tardis cellar, everything she can think of to put herself back out, but it’s no use.

It’s going to be a long night – an  _especially_  long night, if she’s got any say in the matter (something the universe seems keen to remind her she does not) – and she’s looking forward to it too much to shut her eyes again.

With an embarrassingly large bounce in her step, she gets out of bed. A quick brush of her teeth, a shower, and she’s dressed in half the time it usually takes her to get ready. There’s one final piece of her Halloween costume to be acquired and she’d thought to do it that evening, but it wouldn’t hurt to try and take care of it now.

She grabs a quick breakfast, hunting in the cupboards for a pack of the sugary, breakfast pastries she knows the Doctor likes. They taste like candy, which seems fitting for the day, and she eats one on the walk to the Tardis, tucking the other in her bag for him.

There’s a coffee shop around the corner from the pub and she grabs an extra large coffee, having learned the hard way that navigating two separate hot beverages up the fire escape isn’t ideal. It’s much easier to get one and split it between mugs once she’s inside.

Of course, they usually just end up passing the single cup back and forth, hunched together over paperwork, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the sort of quiet intimacy of that.

Today, though, today she’s on a mission.

Up the ladder, she knocks with her free hand on the window, catching the Doctor’s eye where he’s wandering around inside the flat, and holding up her key. He beams at her and nods, and she keys in, moving to set down the coffee and open the window, just as he rushes over to help her in.

His hair is wet, and he smells clean as he brushes a kiss over her cheek, but there’s still a shadow of stubble on his face, and the scrape of it against her skin makes her feel warm.

“Rough night?” She says, handing him the coffee, and nodding at his jaw when he pulls back.

“Yeah,” he says. “Got yelled at by someone’s  _mother_. This is for my costume, though.”

He’s grinning at her like mad, eyes lighting up, practically begging her to ask after it.

She relents, “What are you going as then?” He’d been a bit cagey on the subject, but it seemed more like he didn’t know just yet, and not that he was keeping it secret.

“Guess!” He bounds across the flat, grabbing a fedora from the kitchen table. He flubs a complicated hand twirl that was clearly meant to be smooth trying to get it on his head and she plucks the hat from his hands, reaching up to settle it over his hair.

“A gentleman that wears hats,” she ventures. “A hatter.”

He shakes his head, reaching back to the table and is that – no.

It’s a  _whip_.

“Oh my god,” she says. “Are you Indiana Jones?”

He claps, “Right in one! Well, two, but we don’t have to count the other guess.”

Rose’s brain is trying to catch up, trying to stop flooding itself with images of being tucked up in her bedroom as kid, mooning over Raiders of the Lost Ark, and images of the Doctor looking like that, growling witty things in her ear, shagging her in every location they’ve missed out on this past month.

“Rose?” His voice sounds hesitant, and she realizes she hasn’t responded. “Do you – I mean, I thought it was cool? Kind of around a theme here, went as Han Solo last year. Donna took my blaster within an hour, hoping I can keep the whip a little bit longer this time, but –”

There’s no stopping the embarrassing noise that claws its way out at the thought of him as Han Solo, too, and she rushes to chase after it, “No, no, no, it’s good. Perfect. You’ll look great!”

She gives him what she hopes is a reassuring smile, and not the goofy and dazed look she feels would probably be more fitting.

He takes off the hat and sets the whip back down, smiling as he reaches for the coffee, ruffling his hair with his other hand, “Ta, more excited to see what you’ll be wearing, if I’m honest. So secretive, Rose Tyler. Better be good.”

They finish the coffee, the Doctor scarfing down his share of the breakfast pastry, and before long it’s time for him to head down to the pub. He gives her a wave as he ducks out the window and she doesn’t waste any time in going for what she needs.

There, sticking out from underneath the bed, is his swirly tie. She yanks it free and jams it into her bag – after all, can’t have a Doctor costume without that.

There’s plenty to do before opening at noon, and everybody’s on hand today. It’s a bustling hive of activity, Donna sending Mickey and Astrid scurrying here and there, Martha banging around in the kitchen already, the Doctor in the cellar, and Rose slips behind the bar to make sure everything is in order. The few hours before opening move fast — it might be the fact that there’s so much to do, Rose is busy the entire time. More likely it’s the image of the Doctor in a fedora and whip, and wondering if it would be a bad idea to take a marker from behind the bar and slip into the loo and write LOVE on one of her eyelids and YOU on the other one.

Probably not the best way to tell the Doctor those words for the first time.

Her hand keeps twitching toward the marker, anyway.

~~~~~

The Tardis opens at noon, although they aren’t expecting the rush to hit until later that night. And early afternoon is unremarkable, in terms of the number of customers who come through the door, not much different than an average Wednesday. Donna disappears for a while, comes back in a full 1920s flapper getup.

“Look at me, I’m a literary figure! Guess who?” she says, spinning her long string of pearls with a flourish.

“Ummm, Agatha Christie?” the Doctor says, scratching the back of his head.

“What? No! That’s ridiculous!”

“Ernest Hemingway!” Mickey blurts out.

Donna narrows her eyes at him. “Zelda Fitzgerald!”

“You look lovely,” Rose says.

“Who’s next?” she says, gesturing to the door. They take turns — Martha steps away for a bit and comes back in Shakespearean garb.

“Juliet!” the Doctor guesses.

Martha rolls her eyes, hand on her hip. “Hardly. Too tragic. I’m Beatrice!”

“Brilliant!” he says, sweeping her into a hug. Because it’s perfect for her – clever, resourceful Martha.

Afterward, with his cheeks practically purple, Mickey steps in the door in tights and pantaloons and a feathered cap. Donna’s eyes dart between Martha and Mickey, her jaw dropping open.

“No,” the Doctor blurts in surprise from where he’s just delivered lager to some customers at a booth. He turns around, hands settling on his hips and eyebrows climbing his forehead, a grin spreading across his face. “No!”

“Benedick?” Rose guesses.

Mickey ducks his head and mutters, “I told Martha the feather looks stupid.”

“Shoulda said something about those tights, mate!” Donna retorts with a hearty laugh.

Mickey’s last girlfriend Tricia hasn’t stepped through those blue Tardis doors in more than two weeks, and the Doctor hadn’t thought much about why she’d stopped coming around. Now it seems obvious, the way Mickey has volunteered to stay and help Martha clean the kitchen more often after closing; how during slow times, instead of having her nose buried in a textbook for her cooking classes, she pops out of the kitchen and sits at the bar and watches him wait on the customers.

The Doctor is watching Rose out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge her reaction to this revelation. Rose hadn’t seemed too gutted when Mickey took up with Tricia, but the emotional dynamics of dealing with an ex are more complicated than interstellar travel, as far as the Doctor is concerned.

Rose is beaming at them — a genuine, happy smile — and she dashes the length of the bar to pull Martha into a quick hug.

Just then, the door opens, and a group of boisterous uni students troop in wearing various costumes — Sonnys and Chers, firemen and nurses and a few kids whose getups can only be described as completely alien.

“Go on then, barman,” Donna says, elbowing the Doctor’s ribs. “Get changed, before it turns into complete bedlam!”

“Right,” he says, eyes lingering on Rose. Her arm still around Martha, she glances his way, her grin widening and the tip of her tongue resting against her bottom lip. “Allons-y.”

He darts out the door, climbs to his flat, and is back in record time.

Donna keeps eying the whip, waiting for him to step out of line, but he keeps it holstered -- at least when she's looking.

It's getting crowded, but Rose is still in her regular clothes, and he scrambles to take care of her customers long enough to give her time to change.

He's finally gotten things under control and headed down to the cellar to haul up another keg when he hears Donna's voice. He's got all the doors propped open, but it still shouldn't be so easy for the sound to carry -- not unless Donna's being particularly loud.

He stops fighting with the keg long enough to hear her again, laughing and clapping and hooting, something's clearly delighted Donna.

A few more moments and he's got the keg up the stairs, rolling it through the back door and Donna's still going, "Oh, this is _brilliant_! I can't believe I'd never thought of it!"

He leaves the keg in the kitchen, they don't need it quite yet, but it's better to have it close by for when the do, and pushes out into the pub.

There, facing the door he's just exited, is Rose.

Dressed as him.

Her face breaks in a wide smile when she sees him and Donna turns to catch a look at him, too.

"She's you!" Donna's cackling in delight.

"I'd noticed," he says, but he can't take his eyes from Rose.

The material is almost identical to his suit, but cut far better. Close-fitting trousers, a flattering jacket, and a blue Oxford. There are Converse on her feet and dangling from her neck, untied, is his absolute favorite tie. The swirly one.

"How did you -- how is -- _how_?" He knows his eyes are wide, is purposefully making them that way, trying to take in as much as of her possible.

Rose laughs, "You're not mad then?"

"No, no, no, no, not mad," he says. "Flattered. Stunned. Not mad."

There are, in fact, _several_ positive adjectives to describe how he feels right now, but he can't decide what level of narcissism it is to be so attracted to her like this.

She'd forgone the hair bit, which is just as well, but she'd clearly made an effort to mess hers up. It's created a result not unlike how it looks when he's had his hands in it, using them to keep her mouth against his.

"Gotta tie the tie though," she says, playing with the loose ends of the fabric. "Help me?"

He swallows slowly before nodding. He can tie a tie, right? Done that plenty of times. His fingers grab at the material, fumbling over themselves as Rose grins at him.

~~~~~

Rose has been able to tie a tie since she was 9 years old, but the opportunity to tease the Doctor had been too good to pass up.

It was a gamble, her costume. But she'd already been recognized three times, just from customers around the pub, and the Doctor had reacted almost exactly as she'd hoped -- surprised, and more than a little turned on, if the glassy look in his eye was anything to go by.

The actual execution of it hadn't been hard at all, once she'd had the idea. Her mum's friend Tina from downstairs has made several of her Halloween costumes over the years. Of course, a man's suit is a little bit different from tutus and race car driver jumpsuits, but it had all worked out in the end.

The Doctor finally gets the tie done, looking relieved before smiling at her.

"Well, _Doctor_ ," he says. "Back to work."

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Things are positively frantic inside the pub. There’s a chaotic sort of efficiency in the way Donna and Mickey manage the tables, and the way Martha and Astrid keep a steady stream of bangers and mash, fish and chips, bread pudding and — of course — soul cakes, coming out of the kitchen. Jack’s dressed as James Bond and he’s doing what he does best, being the life of the party, flirting shamelessly with everything on two legs, somehow doubling alcohol sales just with his mere presence.

Rose and the Doctor are working behind the bar, moving with a practiced ease together, and it’s almost like a dance. The counter is completely packed out, two and even three deep in some places, people shouting orders and tossing pound notes as their order is filled. The Doctor seems to have a lot of orders that specially require the glasses located behind Rose, and he squeezes past her over and over again, hips brushing against hers as his eyes linger on her fitted pinstriped jacket, the tie knotted at her throat. He’s grinning, sweating just enough so the hair at the nape of his neck is curling beneath his fedora, and he’s got his shirtsleeves rolled up.

The pub is warm, even though it’s still brisk enough for a flurry outside, the warm press of humanity thick in the crowded space. And it’s fun, in the most manic sort of way — and in the back of her head, as she’s mixing drinks and pouring lager, Rose is cataloguing all the things she could do with that whip coiled on the Doctor’s hip, and the tie around her own neck, and whether or not they’ll make it upstairs after closing or if she’ll pounce on him right here, on top of the bar.

The Doctor’s fully occupied at the opposite end of the bar when Rose reaches out to deposit a drink in front of a patron, and another bloke snatches her hand.

Wiggling her hand away, she plasters a smile on her face and looks at him — slightly older, wrinkles and grey hair and grey eyes, to boot. “What can I get you, mate?”

“There’s an elderly gentleman in the alley, and he seems to be in distress!” the man says, raising his voice to be heard over the hubbub.

_Wilf._

Rose glances behind her, sees the Doctor is facing the opposite direction, his hands completely full with customers. “Doctor, I’ll be right back!” she shouts. He half-turns, gives her a wave before opening the tap to fill a pint.

Ducking under the open end of the bar, Rose pushes through the crowd to the grey-haired bloke. He snags her elbow. “He’s this way!” 

Rose yanks her elbow away, but follows after him toward the front door. They make it outside — it feels so good, cool and crisp and a few flakes of snow flitting down on the crowded sidewalk.

“Where is he?” Rose says, worry gnawing at her. If Wilf had stayed out all last night in the snow, he’s bound to be in rough shape. All she can focus on is getting him inside, maybe setting him up in the kitchen with some food.

The grey-haired bloke leads her to the entrance of the alley. Just around the corner is another bloke, younger and a bit burly. But there’s no Wilf.

“I suppose I ought to introduce myself,” the grey-haired bloke behind her says. She rounds on him, mouth open to demand some answers, but he cuts her off. “My name’s Samuel Davros, and I run the Dalek Arms Pub three blocks over. We’ve had a rivalry, of sorts, for a long time now, the Doctor and me.”

Davros snags Rose’s elbow again and starts hauling her along the crowded sidewalk, and the other bloke falls into step beside her. “And every year, that rivalry comes to a head on Halloween. Last year he stole my baby – my bulldog Caan – and decorated him with pink ribbons! That dog’s the mascot of my pub! Can you imagine the nerve!

“Now it’s my turn to take his mascot, and you – look at you in those pinstripes, he’s trussed you up for the taking! You fit the mascot bill, m’dear. I don’t know what kind of prank the Doctor’s got planned this year, but I’ll be damned if I don’t get the jump on him this time around!”

She’s weighing her options carefully, leaning heavily toward a knee to the groin of the younger bloke, because she’s sure if he she can get him out of the picture, she can outrun this Davros, but he seems to sense her intent.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he says. “It may seem like a silly little game, but I assure you, I take the Doctor and his threat to my business seriously. I’m  _deadly_  serious about it, in fact.”

He forces her arm back toward his hip, brushing over something that could be a gun. It could also  _not_  be a gun, but there are so many families out on the street, small children running circles around their parents, and if this bloke is as mental as he seems, this is not the place to find out.

She straightens her shoulders as much as she can in the awkward hold, and continues walking.

~~~~~

Customers are stacking up behind the bar three deep by the time the Doctor starts to wonder where Rose is. If she’d needed the loo, or had to grab something from the kitchen, she’d definitely be back by now. A small part of him can’t help but hope that he’ll go looking for her and she’ll grab him, pull him into a cupboard, and snog him senseless, like she’d planned it all along.

Another part of him, a larger part, doesn’t like being yelled at by angry patrons, and he catches Mickey’s eye, shouting for him to check on Rose.

A few minutes later, Mickey has returned, slipping behind the bar to help pull a few pints, as he tells the Doctor he can’t find Rose.

“She’s nowhere,” he says. “Checked all over, the cellar, your flat, restrooms, alley, I don’t know where she is, but it’s not here.”

The Doctor’s alarmed, disappearing doesn’t sound like Rose, certainly not when they’re this busy. She seems to take as much pride in the pub as he does – something that makes him feel flushed when he thinks about it too much – and she wouldn’t just abandon the Tardis.

Or, he hopes, him.

“Stay here,” he tells Mickey. “I’m going to have a look.”

Mickey waves him off, turning to the crowd, and raising his voice, “All right, here’s what we’re going do. You want a pint, you queue on this side. You want something different, you queue over here.”

The crowd grumbles, but begins following his directions, and as the Doctor ducks back into the kitchen, he can just hear Mickey hollering to Jack to come help.

It’s disappointing, but ten minutes later, the Doctor has to admit Mickey had been right – there’s absolutely no sign of Rose. He pushes his way out on to the floor, locating Donna and waiting for her to finish with a table before pulling her off to a corner.

“Oi! What’s this? I don’t have time for your gob right now, it’s bonkers in here and that bloke at table 9 is looking like he could be my Gatsby.” Donna’s already edging out of the corner, but the Doctor reaches out for her arm.

“Donna. Rose is gone,” he says.

“What do you mean ‘Rose is gone?’ Rose has gone where? Go get her and get back to the bar.”

The Doctor’s frustrated and tries to run a hand through his hair, before remembering he’s wearing the hat. He yanks it from his head.

“Rose is  _gone_ ,” he says. “No one can find her. She’s not anywhere.”

Donna’s face softens, he must look a little bit mental if she’s cutting him a break so soon.

“Did you try her mobile?”

He feels embarrassed – her mobile, of course.

“Thanks, Donna,” he says, ducking back out into the crowd as he pulls out his own phone.

A few taps of the screen and he’s got Rose dialed, her face smiling up at him from the glass as he tucks the phone to his ear.

It’s ringing.

~~~~~

Rose’s hip is vibrating. These trousers are tight — she’d specifically done them that way, because she’s noticed the Doctor staring at her bum when he doesn’t think she’s looking. She’d nearly left her mobile in her purse, because it was too bulky in this pocket. But the pub had gotten busy before she had time, so here it is — the mobile, buzzing against her hip.

The crowd on the sidewalk has thinned out, they’re two and a half blocks away from the Tardis at this point. Rose has never heard of the Dalek Arms, the Doctor’s certainly never mentioned it, but they must be getting close – if that’s even where they’re taking her.

And Rose doesn’t have any idea what these men plan to do once they get wherever they’re going, whether they’re going to put pink bows on her like the Doctor did to Davros’ bulldog, or if it’s something worse. The word  _prank_ seems like a happy, good-spirited sort of event, but with two men hustling her away from the Doctor and his Tardis, she’s feeling miles away from happy or good-spirited.

Rose isn’t cold, even though a light flurry is falling and she isn’t wearing an overcoat. She shivers anyway, rubs her arms and then shoves her hands into her trouser pockets, like she’s trying to keep them warm.

Her fingers slide along the mobile, searching for the button on the side that picks up the call even if the touchscreen isn’t activated. Her pinky finally finds it.

“So where are you taking me, then?” she says loudly, hoping that it’s the Doctor on the other end of the line. If it isn’t — if it’s her mum or Shareen or something — at least  _someone_ will hear this conversation.

“Rose?” The word comes softly through the tinny little speaker, and Rose clears her throat loudly, trying to cover the sound. Her heart thumps wildly — it  _is_ the Doctor on the other end.

“Where are we going?” Rose asks again, head swiveling between the men on each side of her.

“Da, we ought to tell her,” the younger man says, frowning at Davros, his gaze flickering to Rose’s eyes before it flickers away again. He’s not exactly comfortable with what’s happening here, she can tell. “There’s no need to scare the girl.”

“Shut your gob, Thay.”

“Are we going to the Dalek Arms? Is that where you’re taking me?” Rose says loudly, yanking her arm out of Thay’s grasp again. “Because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not a bulldog, and snatching me from my place of work and taking me somewhere against my will isn’t a Halloween prank, it’s called  _kidnapping!”_ The last word rings off the buildings around them.

There’s a loud beep from her pocket as the mobile connection cuts out. Davros draws back, staring down at her hip. Then his gaze lifts to her face, his right eyebrow lifting.

“Pray tell, my dear — what was that noise?”

~~~~~  

The Doctor’s face has gone hot, his body cold, his fingers numb. The phone slides down from his ear and his jaw works for a silent moment, his mind racing as he pulls himself together.

He knows exactly who has Rose — and he knows why, although what sort of barmy idiot would imagine kidnapping a grown adult would qualify as a  _prank,_ he can’t begin to imagine.

His mouth is still moving, but sound finally comes out, ringing across the crowded, deafeningly loud pub: “ _Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack_!”

He watches as Jack’s head snaps up from the ginger bloke he’s chatting up, and the Doctor points to the kitchen. Jack nods, stopping to check with Mickey who shoos him away from the bar.

The Doctor pushes through the crowd, more than a few of the customers are staring at him, clearly expecting an explanation for his outburst, but he can’t be bothered just now.

Astrid and Martha look surprised as he thunders into the kitchen, and they seem even more confused as Jack follows on his heels.

“Davros has Rose,” he tells Jack.

“That son of a bitch,” Jack says.

“Apparently he’s still angry about our taking the dog last year. So, of course, it makes perfect sense to take a  _human_ instead,” the Doctor’s trying to keep the rage from his voice, but most of his energy is on formulating a plan to get Rose back.

“Saw that on an American TV show once,” Jack’s voice is forcibly light, like he’s trying to keep calm. “‘Saved by the Bell?’ You guys have that here?”

The Doctor doesn’t even try to stop from glaring at Jack.

“Right, right, of course not,” Jack says. “Well, let’s go get her. Martha, can you cover the bar with Mickey? Astrid, you’ll have to handle the kitchen by yourself, can you do that?”

The Doctor’s eyes shift to Astrid, it’s not really a question – he’s going to get Rose, and he’s taking Jack with him, but he’d rather not bring her back to a pub in the middle of a Halloween riot.

Astrid nods, eyes wide. “I can do that,” she says. It’s one tiny thing going right, but it’s a step in the right direction, and he’s so pleased with Astrid, he could kiss her.

He refrains, instead thanking both of them quickly and darting through the back door into the back alley. He can hear Jack following behind, whistling the Indiana Jones theme tune. 

~~~~~

Rose had managed to convince Davros that the beep in her pants was, in fact, her mobile  _dying_ – or the battery, at least. She’d held down the power button as she pulled the phone from her pocket to prove it, and, unbelievably, it had worked.

He’d taken her phone and dragged her the rest of the way to his pub, shoving her roughly into a back office and slamming the door.

Now she can hear him and – Thay? Was that his name? – as they argue just outside the door.

When they reach a particularly loud volume, she tries the door handle, hoping their voices will muffle any rattling. Maybe she can get the drop on them.

But, no, it’s locked, apparently from the outside.

She takes a few moments to get her bearings. There are newspaper clippings lining a bulletin board on the back wall and when she walks over for a closer look, she can see they’re all about the Doctor.

There are dining reviews, interviews and cocktail guides, plus more than a few profile pieces, including one with a color picture of him. He’s wearing a green t-shirt, apparently it had been a St. Patrick’s Day edition, and she has to wonder at that – do they do these prank wars for every holiday? Do they always involve conflicted kidnappers?

She doubts the Doctor ever kidnapped Thay, or any other of Davros’s employees.

There’s a cricket bat leaning in a corner, and Rose’s hand moves toward it instinctively — it feels like something she should do, hold onto that bat, use it the next time someone walks in the door. But as her fingers brush the handle, she realizes that she doesn’t want to be the one responsible for escalating this situation. Whatever these people have planned, certainly it can’t be any worse than leaving her in this office overnight. Can it? The older bloke in particular seems a bit off his rocker, but hardly homicidal. And if she’s the one who starts swinging away, cracking peoples’ heads with a bat, they’d be much more likely to respond in kind.

Rose sits down on a crate and wonders about the pub itself — not a tenth as crowded as the Tardis today, she’d reckon from the glance she got as these men hustled her past the storefront and into the back alley, before they came in the back door and shoved her into this office. She could start shouting, but she doesn’t know that anyone would hear her, much less come to let her out.

 _Office._ Offices have phones, Rose realizes. And it should’ve struck her earlier, but she chalks it up to her blind panic as she starts shoving papers out of the way, digging around on the desk and every other flat surface, looking for a landline of some sort. Hanging off one corner is a disconnected cord — whatever phone had been in here, has been removed.

Rose sits down again and crosses her arms, realizing that the best thing she can do now is listen. Because physical force most likely won’t get her out of here, but maybe reason will.

“Da, you didn’t tell me the girl wasn’t in on it! I don’t want to go to prison for kidnapping, I’ve got a trip to –”

“There’s more important things happening here than your bloody trip to America next month!” Davros hisses, and there’s a weird gurgle in the back of his throat as he speaks. It sends chills up Rose’s spine. “This is about family honor! This is about showing that man he can’t just waltz around doing whatever he wants, whenever he wants, and not expect consequences! There has to be a certain  _order_ to the universe, because if one looney runs around exterminating the right order of things, reality might very well collapse!”

There’s a deep sigh, followed by, “Da, why don’t you let me pour you a pint. The girl’s safe and sound in there for now, and I think we could both use a drink.”

Somewhere nearby, a dog barks.

~~~~~

“Doctor, just to play devil’s advocate here, because Donna will kill me if she finds out I didn’t say  _something_ ,” Jack says beside the Doctor as they jog down the sidewalk, dodging drunken Halloween revelers, “shouldn’t we be calling the police?”

“It’s Halloween, the police have already got their hands full. Even if we put that call in now, it could be hours before they respond. If Rose was a missing child, they’d make this a priority; but she’s an adult, which means they’ll assume she’s gone off of her own free will for at least a few days, before they start to take this seriously.”

“Surely Davros wouldn’t keep her for  _days,_ ” Jack says, shaking his head. “He’s a bit unbalanced, but he isn’t  _completely_ mad.”

“I don’t want to find out  _what_  Davros plans to do with her,” the Doctor retorts as they round the last corner to the Dalek Arms. “Do you remember when he sabotaged the locks and windows on Sarah Jane’s car doors? And Sarah was stuck in there, in the summer heat, for half an hour before anyone found her?” The frown on the Doctor’s face deepens, the determination in his chest hardening. “We’re going get Rose out of there, and back to my place where she’s safe.”

Jack nods, “Right, right – how are we going to do that? We can’t just go charging in there.”

The Doctor clenches his teeth, Jack is right, of course, but that had been exactly what he’d planned to do.

He ducks into the back alley behind the pub, thinking it over. He’s just about decided to go charging in anyway when a dog comes rocketing around the corner, stopping to bark at them.

He’s some sort of mutt, he looks like a cross between a German Shepherd and a beagle, and the Doctor ducks down to pat the dog’s head absent-mindedly. The animal wants nothing to do with petting though, he’s nosing his way across the Doctor’s lap toward his satchel – the one full of soul cakes that Martha had wrapped up special for him.

Oh,  _brilliant_.

“I think, Jack, that we’re going to create a distraction. And  _then_  we’re going to go charging in.”

There’s no collar on the dog, and his fur is matted, bones visible at his sides. He’s clearly a stray, but seems well-behaved enough. Nothing like that fat, pampered bulldog he’d been dealing with last Halloween, the one that was apparently worth kidnapping Rose over.

The Doctor tries out a few names, walking to the far end of the alley and seeing if he’ll come when called.  _Boy_  doesn’t work, same for  _Dog_ ,  _Rover_ ,  _Rex_ ,  _Dino_. His ears lift at “K-9” and the Doctor gives himself a moment to smile at that, thinking of a different dog, a different time.

“All right, K-9, you want a treat?” The Doctor leads them back out of the alley as Jack catches on.

“Are you going to do what I think you’re going to do?” Jack’s voice is amused, and he’s smiling.

“What, you don’t think Caan would like a playmate? And some goodies, too,” the Doctor says, holding the front door to the Dalek Arms open with one hand as he reaches into his satchel with the other.

“You’re going to take that thing home when we’re done, aren’t you?” Jack’s shaking his head, still smiling as K-9 jumps at their heels.

“Maybe,” the Doctor says, mind already skipping ahead to nights curled on the sofa, Rose on one side, the dog on the other.

He has to get Rose back though, for that to happen, and he feels a fresh wave of anger over the situation.

K-9 darts into the pub, zeroing in on Caan where he sits on a plush pillow near the service well. The Doctor watches them, making sure there’s not going to be any bloodshed as he unwraps the soul cakes. Caan immediately submits to a thorough sniffing from K-9 and then they both catch the scent of the treats, barking loudly at the Doctor and Jack as patrons turn to watch the scene.

He breaks a cake in half and tosses one piece to the far end of the pub, K-9 yelping as he chases after it. The other piece is flung to the opposite wall and Caan lumbers off in that direction.

As expected, the customers watching have turned into customers reacting, screaming and shrieking as the dogs scramble about the pub. The Doctor ducks into a dark back corner as Jack stands proudly in the middle of the space, cheering the dogs on.

Davros comes tearing out of the office area, Thay right behind him, and they’re headed for Jack.

The Doctor uses the confusion to slip through the staff doors, eyes skittering up and down the hallway looking for a clue to Rose’s location, as the sounds of chaos filter through the pub.

~~~~~

Rose has her ear pressed to the door, because it sounds like World War III has broken out outside. There’s shouting and wild barking, and Davros’s distinctly gravelly voice screaming shrilly for Caan to heel. Using the noise as cover, Rose takes a step back, lifts her foot, and brings it down hard near the doorknob. The door shudders, but the rickety old lock doesn’t give. She repeats the process several times, _thump! thump! thump!_ against the solid oak door, to no avail.

The last time she jumps into the air, putting every ounce of her weight behind the kick. Just as her foot’s about to land, the door opens outward. She can’t stop, she’s midair and her momentum’s too strong.

Her foot lands squarely on the Doctor’s stomach.

He goes down in a crumpled heap, making a strangled shout as the wind’s knocked out of him. Rose lands right on top of him, squealing in shock and surprise. She scrambles onto her knees, hunching over to throw her arms around him even as he gasps like a fish for breath.

“Oh my god, Doctor! I’m so sorry! Are you okay? Can you breathe? Am I glad you’re here, I haven’t seen you in ages!” she says in a rush, squeezing him.

He makes another strangled squeak, his fingers clenching convulsively on her jacket. His eyes are open wide, his hair sticking on end, and he’s lost a few buttons on his already tight oxford during the fall, it’s practically open to his bellybutton. He looks like an Indiana Jones who stuck his finger in a lightsocket.

“S’only been forty minutes,” he wheezes. His arms lock around her, too, pulling her down on top of him again, so they’re both on the floor. “But yeah, that was ages. You didn’t have to kick me for it, though.”

She laughs, relief washing over her in warm waves, because the Doctor’s here, and she feels safe, and things are going to be okay. Tears prick at the corner of her eyes, and Rose wants nothing more than to stay here for a while, wrapped up in the Doctor’s arms — she has every intention of spending the rest of the night that way, in point of fact. But doing so on the floor of the Dalek Arms doesn’t seem like the wisest plan.

He’s already pushing to his feet, drawing her along and wheezing softly as his breath comes back. His hand finds hers, fingers lacing together, and she looks up and down the hallway. “Which way?”

“Back alley’s that way,” the Doctor says, gesturing to the right. Then he points left, to the sound of the ruckus, which seems to gradually be quieting down. “But we’re going that way.”

“What, is the back exit blocked?” Rose asks, frowning down the hall.

“It’s wide open, in point of fact. But I need to have a word with Davros.”

“Doctorrrrr,” she protests in a whisper as he pulls her down the hall. “Can’t we just get out of here and call the police?”

“Jack’s in there, anyway,” the Doctor says. “Doing what he does, being the center of attention. I’ve got to make sure he doesn’t forget to bring along my dog when he leaves.”

“Your _dog_?”Rose says, incredulous and utterly confused, yanking on his arm again, but he doesn’t have time to answer.

The Doctor shoves open a door, and they step into the bar area itself. The room is empty of patrons at this point, and there’s a bulldog and a mangy stray in the center of the room, snarling at each other over cake crumbs. Jack’s got his back to the door, and he’s got his mouth open, mid-sentence on saying something to Thay, who’s advancing on him from across the room.  Davros is holding a bottle of lager like a club, not far behind his son.

Everyone freezes as the Doctor swaggers through the door, his hand moving to his hip, closing around the handle of the coiled whip.

Rose eyes widen, and her hand shoots out to cover his on the whip.

He turns to her, grinning, "I've got it, it's fine."

She tightens her fingers, she's got big plans for him tonight, and they don't involve injury or answering questions in a police station. Well, not if _he's_ the one they're asking her about.

"Rose, seriously," he says. "It'll be okay."

She lifts her fingers, watching along with everyone else as he unholsters the whip.

He makes a wide loop, walking slowly over to the dogs as Davros finally lowers the bottle. Slipping the loop over the neck of the mutt, he ties a knot securing it in place.

He's created a leash, and somehow it's incredibly fitting. The Doctor doesn't strike Rose as someone fond of using weapons, at least not for their intended purpose, and it's adorable the way the dog shifts to sit at his heels.

"Rose, this is K-9," he says. "K-9, Rose."

Everyone is remaining still except for the two of them and Rose bends down to scratch the dog -- _K-9_ \-- behind his ears.

"That's enough of this," Davros says, lunging toward the three of them, the bottle out in front of him.

K-9 wheels away from Rose and the Doctor, growling at Davros, teeth bared, and Davros recoils. Caan is still licking the crumbs from the floor, apparently unconcerned at the threat to his owner. 

"You always did pick the loyal ones, Doc," Jack says, moving to stand at Rose's side.

Thay shifts closer to his father, and then they're squaring off, the good guys and the bad, and Rose nearly giggles. Indiana Jones, indeed.

"Right," the Doctor says. "You _kidnapped_ Rose. You took her against her will, to a place she did not want to be, and then you _kept_ her there."

Davros raises the bottle again, still apparently keen on the strategy of the best defense being an offense, but the Doctor doesn't blink.

"I can't even tell you how angry that makes me," the Doctor says.

And with that, he turns for the door, tugging gently at K-9's leash to bring him along.

"We're just going to leave?" Jack's voice sounds as confused as Rose feels.

"Yep," the Doctor says, popping the 'p' loudly. "Assuming, of course, that's okay with you, Rose? You were the kidnap-ee, after all. The kidnapped?"

Rose feels herself nod, too stunned to do anything else. She's not sure what she was expecting, but it wasn't this.

"To the police station, then? Don't think I won't fight the charges, Doctor," Davros says.

"Oh, no," the Doctor says. "We're going home."

"You're just -- running away?" Thay is gaping at him.

"I think you've misunderstood," the Doctor pauses at the front door. "You've put in danger someone I lo-- you've put Rose in danger. I am _furious_. And I want you to know that, I want you to conduct business every single day in this rotting, awful excuse for a pub, knowing that I'm there, three blocks away. I won't sink to your level, you've taken a game and turned it into something else entirely, and I won't be so forgiving -- ever again."

With that, he reaches for Rose's hand, she gives it to him, knitting their fingers together, and they exit the Dalek Arms, K-9 at their heels and Jack right behind them.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

~~~~~

The second they hit the pavement outside Davros’s pub, the Doctor’s arm slides around Rose’s shoulder. She tucks herself against him, hand wrapping around the opposite side of his waist. Jack is bouncing along beside them —he’s grinning like a maniac. K-9’s claws are making a soft _tick-tick_ nose on the sidewalk, and as the gentlest of flurries continues to fall, the Doctor sucks in a deep breath. His stomach is going to be sore tomorrow — Rose has got one hell of a kick.

“Oh my god, that was amazing! You should’ve seen K-9 go after those cakes! Smart little bastard was jumping circles around that fat bulldog from the start!” Jack bubbles happily.

Reaching out, the Doctor chucks Jack on the arm. “Thanks. For everything, back there.”

Jack’s grin is ear to ear. “Any time, Doctor!”

Without warning, Rose tugs away from the Doctor’s side and skips right over to Jack, throwing her arms around his neck and hopping up into his embrace. He laughs delightedly, swinging her back and forth. She whispers something in his ear, so soft the Doctor can’t hear it, and he didn’t know it was possible, but Jack’s grin brightens even more. He whispers something back.

When Rose had first come to work at the Tardis, during the odd nights when Jack was around, the Doctor will admit he’d felt more than a bit jealous of the way Jack flirted with Rose. And Rose laughed and blushed and gave as good as she got — friendship had taken root between them, quickly and naturally. But the Doctor had a conversation with Jack one night after closing in the kitchen, and afterward he hadn’t let that jealousy have any hold over him when he saw Jack and Rose together. Because they were both incredibly important to him, and it was right, that they should be friends with each other, too.

Rose plants a kiss on his cheek, and it’s a rare thing to see Jack Harkness blush, but he does.

Tucking herself back against the Doctor’s side, Rose shivers. “This has been the most mental thing that’s ever happened to me,” she sighs. Pauses. “Well, maybe the second most mental thing.”

The Doctor swivels his head down to regard her, curiousity flaring through him. “Really?” Jack arches his eyebrows at the Doctor over the top of her head.

“I just want to get home, and get warm and clean up,” she says. “And there’s no way I’m telling my mum about anything that happened tonight — she’ll go ballistic.”

When the Doctor had told Davros that they were going _home_ , he had meant the Tardis, of course. And it occurs to him for the first time, strolling toward his pub, that _home_ actually means something quite different for Rose; it means Jackie and a flat at the Powell Estate.

“Right,” he says slowly, rubbing her shoulder as she shivers in the cold. “Obviously you’ve got the rest of the night off. We’ll just kip in for your coat and your things, and I can walk you back to your place. It’s late, we’re closing soon anyway, they can spare me for a few more minutes.”

Rose’s steps slow down, and he can tell she’s staring at him, but if he looks back at her he won’t be able to hide the disappointment on his face.

“Jack, is he always this thick?” she says, her attention still riveted to the Doctor.

“He’s got a nickname, actually,” Jack replies. “Something about Thickety-Thick Face from … somewhere. Ohhh boy, you ought to have seen his dad, though!”

“Oi! You never met my dad,” the Doctor retorts.

“I’ll bet it runs in the family, though,” Jack says, slightly sing-song.

They come to a stop in front of the blue doors of the Tardis, and Jack opens them with a flourish. Rose steps inside, the Doctor comes right after. It’s less than an hour until closing, and there’s still a busy hubbub, customers filling most of the tables, but the chaos from earlier in the evening has died down.

Donna, Mickey and Martha catch sight of them, and it’s a wild rush for hugs and exclamations over the new dog and excited demands for the full story. Astrid takes K-9 off to the kitchen for a healthy load of leftovers, and when she comes back, Jack is more than happy to oblige them all with a recounting of the evening’s events. Within moments, he has the entire room transfixed.

Rose quietly detaches herself from the Doctor and slips off behind the bar.

The Doctor isn’t even half-listening to Jack, because everything that happened tonight — prank, or something more serious, it doesn’t matter — he can’t get past the hollow pit of panic he’d felt when he realized something had happened to Rose. The wild fury that followed, the way it was hardly containable, the way he’d wanted to see Davros suffer in exchange for frightening this woman who has become such an integral part of his life.

That someone had scared Rose or even potentially hurt her — the Doctor knows how capable she is of taking care of herself, but he’s saturated to bursting with a need to take care of her, too. Because he can’t imagine his life without her, not in any form.

He’s known her a few short months, and she’s changed everything. Made him better. And he isn’t flattering himself when he notices that she’s changed for the better, too — from whatever rough times she’d been through before, with Jimmy and the other things she never really talks about but he can see in her eyes; to someone who’s happy, and so incredibly clever, and he can’t imagine he could find a more capable person to have signed over part of his business to, to be honest.  

Of course, his business isn’t the only thing he’s signed over.

The word had nearly come out of his mouth at the Dalek Arms, and as he follows Rose to the bar, it’s on the tip of his tongue again. It’s not a word he’s ever said before — well, saying he _loves_ a banana split doesn’t count, when it comes down to it. It’s big and terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

Half of him wants to blurt it out, say it over and over again so she might begin to comprehend how profoundly it’s true; the other half wants to tuck the word away, because should he really have to speak it aloud? After everything tonight, and surely she can just read it written across his face, plain as day.

He stops a few feet away from where Rose is standing, collecting her purse and her bag with her clothes.

“So you …” she takes a deep breath “… you want me to go back to my mum’s?” Her eyes dart toward him before she busies herself digging for something in her purse.

The Doctor feels it building up — the stammering, shuffling his feet, searching for words that are already right there in the back of his throat, but he can’t force out. The oncoming blunder.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s bolloxed up this kind of moment. Except this time it’s different, because it isn’t just any woman.

It’s Rose.

“No.” The word comes out, clear and simple. He’s rocking back on his heels and rubbing at the back of his neck, because he can’t contain _all_ of that nervous energy. He’d have to be superhuman — alien — to smother so many nerves. “No, I don’t want you to go back to your mum’s.”

Rose stills, staring at her purse for a long moment before she turns to face him. Everyone else is wrapped up in Jack’s story on the other side of the room, and it’s like the Doctor and Rose are light years away over here, behind this long counter, in a separate universe.

The corners of her mouth lift, her full cheeks turning a pink. There’s that word again, dancing along his tongue, fluttering against the inside of his closed lips, and he ought to open them and let it out. He should say it, because he never wants her to doubt that he belongs to her, every brown hair on his head and every corner of his soul, and if he had two hearts he’d give her both, one for each hand.

He opens his mouth, but the word doesn’t come out. Others stampede past it in a rush: “I mean, if you want, you could — there’s room, upstairs. It’s a long walk back to your mum’s flat, and it’s cold outside” — he half turns, gesturing toward the door — “and you were shivering on the way back to the pub. I know it isn’t _home_ , but it’s warm enough and you can have the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch. I mean, because tonight’s been bonkers, and you’re probably exhausted, and I can make you a cuppa and a … hot bath? Is that what one does in these sorts of situations, after a trauma?” His eyes widen. “Not that you have to take a bath in my flat, of course not, you could just —”

Without warning, she steps forward and grabs the front of his unbuttoned shirt, yanking him forward and coming up onto her tiptoes at the same time.

Her mouth crashes into his, lips opening, tongue sliding forward. It takes his body a second to catch up, his arms folding around her, wrapping her up, bringing her against himself. He wants to be like this forever ( _oh god, forever; that’s a good word, good and terrifying and impossible and something he wants so badly he can taste it right along with Rose’s mouth_ ). She’s melting into him, her hands sliding into his hair and tugging. He groans, turning her so her back’s against the wall of bottles, and they clink softly as his hips push into hers and she bumps up against them.

An eternity later — or maybe just a few seconds — the Doctor’s so lost he can’t tell anymore — Rose pulls away, smiling against his lips.

“Daft man. Of course I meant the Tardis when I said I wanted to go _home_ ,” she whispers, breath warm against his skin. “Of course I’ll stay.”

He blinks. She’s so close he can’t focus on her face, there are just her eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The Doctor tips his head forward again, seeking her mouth with his own, and a deafening round of applause breaks out on the other side of the pub. Rose’s eyes snap open and she stares over his shoulder, mortification spreading across her face.

“Oh god.” She buries her forehead against his neck.

Maneuvering her sideways, the Doctor turns to find that all the customers are staring at them with rapt attention, with Jack, Donna, Martha and Mickey beaming and clapping along. Martha reaches out and grasps Mickey’s hand. Jack makes a hooting cat-call, and Donna mouths at the Doctor  _About bloody time!_

“All right, all right! Show’s over, you lot!” the Doctor shouts at them, waving at them to settle down. “Closing time! Last round’s on the house!”

Giggling, Rose steps away, turning sideways to stand beside him. She bumps the side of his hip with her own, and hands him a few glasses, and together they serve up the last round on this mad Halloween. 

Strangely, after everything that’s already happened, the Doctor still has the feeling that the night is only just beginning.

~~~~~

They're just setting the last of the chairs on the table, everyone pitching in to help and tossing her knowing glances, when Rose realizes she hasn't seen K-9 since Astrid took him back to the kitchen for some food.

"Doctor, where's K-9?"

The Doctor looks around the room, before raising his fingers to his lips, making a loud whistle.

The swinging door to the kitchen flies open as the dog barrels through it, stopping in the middle of the pub to shake himself off, water droplets flying through the air in a blur.

Astrid runs out behind him, Adam scrambling after -- where has Adam been?

"Astrid," the Doctor says, "Why is my dog all wet?"

He moves closer to K-9, bending down and taking a deep breath through his nose.

"And clean? Why is my dog wet and clean?"

Astrid looks momentarily embarrassed, as if perhaps she'd been presumptuous in getting the animal a bath, but it passes.

"Adam here," she gestures where he's standing next to her, "Came 'round begging for a shift, only we ran out of dishes, so I had him clean your dog instead."

K-9 already looks loads better than he did, healthier, even, and Rose is going to need the full story on just where he came from, but it can wait.

The Doctor leans down again, this time scratching K-9 under the chin, before pulling his hand away and wiping it on his trousers.

"That's brilliant," he says. "Thanks, Astrid and -- Adam. You can go.

Adam nods and moves to leave, cheeks flushing, "Thanks, if you ever need dishes washed again, let me know. Sort of -- on hiatus from school. Could use a job again."

The Doctor moves to the front door, opening it for him, "We'll keep you posted."

Adam leaves, Donna already starting for the exit before the door's even closed.

"All right, you lot, I'm heading home, you should all do the same," she looks pointedly around the room and Rose grins. She'd perhaps been a little bit intimidated by Donna at first, by her place in the Doctor's life, but over the last couple of months, she's come to love her like a sister.

 _Love_. Donna's not quite the only person Rose would use that word about, and if his slip at the Dalek Arms was anything to go by, those feelings are probably returned, but that can wait for another night.

Tonight she plans to do a bit more showing than telling.

Martha and Mickey make their goodbyes as well, and Jack volunteers to take K-9 for the night. Apparently there's a veterinarian that owes him a favor -- Rose is certain she doesn't want to know why -- and he offers to stop in to have the dog checked first thing in the morning.

The Doctor looks hesitant, gaze shifting from K-9 to Rose, before his eyes skitter down to her chest, and he suddenly agrees.

Ten minutes later, everyone's gone and she's alone with the Doctor, following him through the kitchen as they turn the last of the lights off and exit into the alley.

There's so much tension in the air, she feels like she can _see_ it, little bubbles of it dotting the space around them, like some sort of Pac-Man game for those in need of a shag.

They climb the fire escape in silence, but it's clear what they're moving toward -- or, well, she hopes it's clear. She remembers years ago on the Estate, her mates gathered around her and Dominic Hunter, loudly encouraging them to snog. Rose had wanted to, had known it was inevitable, but somehow, with it all out in the open like that, she'd felt shy.

Dominic had eventually made his move, after their friends had skivved off, hiding behind walls and bushes (something she hadn't known until the cheer went up from them). The relief she'd felt was almost as brilliant as the kiss itself, like finally being able to set down a heavy book bag after a long walk home from school, a whole weekend of doing nothing stretching out ahead.

Only, in this case, they won't exactly be doing _nothing_.

The Doctor unlocks the window, opening it and gesturing for her to go through first. He'd picked up his hat again somewhere and the way he tips it at her as she moves to duck into the flat sparks low in her stomach. She straightens, turning instead to press him against the brick next to the window. With a tug at the strap of the satchel crossing his chest, she pulls him down for a kiss.

His mouth opens against hers, his hands sliding between her unbuttoned suit jacket and her shirt, before skating lower to her bum, pulling her against him. It's completely without preamble, his tongue gliding wetly alongside hers as she moves her hands under the open collar of his shirt. Her fingers curl into the muscles where his neck meets his shoulder, the heel of her palms pressing against his collarbone.

It's a shock, this amount of his skin, so easily accessible, and she grins against his mouth as she feels his hands slip between them, tugging futilely at her tie. Maybe this will teach him an important lesson about all that layering.

His hat brushes the top of her head as he shifts the angle, pulling back just enough to nip at her lower lip. She reaches up to snatch the hat, stepping away from him as she presses it to his chest, and he reaches up to hold it there.

He stares at her, mouth red and eyes half-lidded, and she darts away, climbing through the window and turning to face him as she blocks his entrance to the flat.

"It's Halloween," she says.

His tongue snakes out to wet his lips, and she concentrates on the movement, watching as he debates his response.

"It is," he finally settles on.

"So, Doctor," she says. "Which will it be -- trick? Or treat?

His eyes snap to hers, clear and dark, and his voice is pitched lower than she's ever heard it when he answers.

"I have a feeling, Rose Tyler, that I will be delighted either way."

And with that, he slides through the open window, smirking as she reflexively steps away to allow him in.

The only light in the flat is coming from the small lamp on his bedside the table, the one he'd installed a timer on a few weeks ago, tired of the two them stumbling into complete darkness each night. It throws long shadows around the room, making everything seem warm and heavy, and the dull thud as he drops his hat to the ground seems louder than it should.

He takes off his satchel, too, tossing it away as he moves to close the distance between them, fingers playing with the end of her tie as he speaks, "You going to put this back where you found it?" He glances meaningfully toward the bed.

"Might do," she says, turning to cross the flat, confident he'll follow. "Maybe I have other plans for it instead."

Her knees bump the edge of the mattress and the Doctor steps up behind her, hands on her shoulders as he pulls to help her shrug the jacket off. He steps back only enough to let it fall to the floor before pressing into her again.

"Oh, no," he growls the words against the skin of her neck, nosing her hair out of the way. "Not tonight. Definitely remember that, though."

The last part sounds enough like the Doctor, the everyday Doctor, that she tenses. This is _him_ , and they're going to do _this_. Finally.

He senses the change in her posture, moving back and tugging lightly at her arms until she turns to face him.

"Rose, we can -- we don't have to do this. I mean, that is, of course, well, if there was anything we were going to do?"

He reaches up to tug at his ear, and it draws attention to the complete riot of his hair, matted down with sweat in some places, sticking up in others. She can't help her hand as it drifts to the hair at the side of his head, scratching lightly at his scalp. His eyes fall shut and he lets out a sigh, settling into the feeling for a moment.

"We were definitely going to do something, Doctor," she says, and his eyes reopen. "We _are_ going to do something."

She moves her hand back from his head, reaching down to undo the last two buttons on his shirt before leaning forward to press a kiss against his chest, the hair there tickling her lips.

"Can you guess what it is we'll be doing?" She pulls away, catching his eye as she touches her tongue to her teeth.

"I have a guess," he says. "Why don't you tell me the answer, and I'll let you know if it was correct?"

His hands have found her waist, fingers curling into her belt loops.

"We are going to shag," she says.

His eyes light up, "I was right!"

She slides her hand between them, cupping the front of his trousers, "And you came prepared, well done, Doctor."

He bucks lightly into her hand. "Oh, I'm always prepared. Been prepared for months." He ducks his head, like he's said too much and she leans up to kiss him again.

"I've been prepared for ages, too," she says, and grins at him. He smiles back, and they stand like that for a moment. Rose can barely contain the feeling of joy racing through her veins, joy that she's found this man, joy that they're finally going to get to this part.

"Well, perhaps we should start with putting that tie back where it belongs," he says.

"So the tie belongs on the floor, does it?"

He nods, already working the knot of the material away from her throat, slipping the silk from her collar and dropping it to the ground.

"Of course it does," he says. "All the clothes belong there."

She pushes at the sides of his shirt and he works the sleeves down his arms, catching it as it falls before deliberately releasing it to pool on the floor.

"Like that shirt, for example," he says. "And this one." He starts on the buttons of her Oxford, smirking at the way she reaches for his belt at the same time.

"Brilliant, you're catching on," he says, the words stuttering out as her fingers brush against him.

When her shirt is unbuttoned, she pulls it off, watching as his eyes linger on her bra, the one just a touch too dark for the color of her shirt. She'd planned to take the jacket off at some point during the evening and tease him a little bit, and from the look of him now, it would have worked.

"Doctor," she says, and he startles, eyes moving up to meet hers. "What about shoes? Those are already on the ground."

He nods, tilting his head like he's considering. "You're right, but they belong on _that_ ground," he says, pointing to a space a few feet away.

"Better get them there, then," she says, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, before reaching down to unlace her trainers.

"Best do," he sits next to her, tugging his boots off and lobbing them toward the empty space.

Hers follow after and she pauses to turn to him, "Socks, too?"

"Socks, too," he confirms.

Their socks don't make it quite to the designated area, but the Doctor's clearly not bothered, watching as she shimmies further up the bed. He moves to join her, but then stands instead, finishing with his belt and undoing the fly of his trousers. He shoves them down and steps out of them, clad only in his boxer briefs now.

She leans forward, hooking her fingers into the waistband of his pants, "Shouldn't these be on the floor as well?"

He tuts at her, "There's an order to these things, Rose. Those --" he gestures at her trousers, "-- will need to go first."

Leaning back, she arches her hips and undoes the clasp, nodding in thanks as he helps peel her trousers from her legs.

"These are awfully tight," he says.

"Not like you leave much room in yours," she says. "Had to be accurate in my costuming."

He tosses her trousers away, and kneels on the bed, bracing a hand on the pillow behind her as he leans down to touch his lips to hers. He doesn't let the kiss deepen, pulling away every time she opens her mouth, as he settles himself between her legs.

She tugs at his shoulders, pulling him more fully down on top of her, and she uses the slight groan he makes to slip her tongue into his mouth. He reacts immediately, no longer teasing as they move together, it's hot and wet and messy and she's got her hands twisted into his hair, trying to take control.

He pulls his mouth from hers, moving to kiss along her jaw, nipping lightly along the skin before latching on to the juncture of her shoulder and neck, teeth sinking in almost roughly and she can't help bucking up underneath him. He smooths over the spot with his tongue and her legs move to wrap around him, stumbling to set a rhythm even with their underwear still between them.

His hand glides along her ribs before edging under her back. She feels his fingers working and then the pressure of her bra release, and he leans up to pull it off and fling it away before drifting his lips across her chest.

The movement forces her legs from his hips, forces her to relinquish the friction she'd been creating, and she only lets him go for a few moments before gripping at his hair, tugging him up. His mouth is wet and his pupils are dilated, and when he shifts forward again, pressing hard against her damp knickers, she moans.

He's off her in a flash, standing, hopping, trying to work his pants off and she rushes to do the same, shoving her knickers down and kicking them away. He settles back on the bed, but at her side, and she groans in frustration until his fingers move between her legs, and, oh, there's that rhythm she was looking for.

She can feel a steady build from the movements of his hand and he's so in control now, she wants to throw him off balance. Her hand lifts to wrap around him, but she can't set a good pace, stopping and starting as she focuses on his fingers, the brush of his thumb. He pushes into her again and her hand tightens reflexively, wringing out a groan from him as he finally falters.

"That thing we were gonna do?" Her voice is rushed and breathy, even to her own ears, and the Doctor pulls back to look at her. "Let's do it now."

He nods, rapidly, moving to settle between her thighs, before pausing to reach toward the bedside table. What could he possibly --

"Pill," she says, hips already pushing toward his. "And clean. You?"

He nods again, and she feels a small rush of pride that she's reduced him to speechlessness. She reaches up to kiss him lightly and then he's moving his hand, positioning himself. He slides into her, her legs moving to wrap around him again, locking him in place and taking a moment to get her bearings before relaxing to let him move. He starts out slowly, but she doesn't want that, wants it fast and hard and right this second.

Her hands move to clutch at his back, his bum, speeding the pace as he braces himself above her. Out of nowhere, his mouth starts up, and it's brilliant, the narration, words like _tight_ and _warm_ and _fuck_ and then she loses the plot entirely, can only hear his insistence that she come, that she come _now_ , and it's right there, she's _right there_ and then he tenses above her, voice breaking off into a groan, as he tries to keep up the shallow movement of his hips for her. He bites down on that spot at her shoulder again, and she tips after him, her shout so much louder than anything else that's been said.

She wraps her arms around him, pulling him forward to lay down on her, and he drops his head on the pillow next to hers. He's still pulsing faintly between her legs, their chests slick with sweat.

He stays for a few long moments before rolling off of her and onto his back, turning his head so they're facing each other.

"Glad we got that done," she says, and there's laughter in her voice that she hopes he won't take the wrong way. He grins in return.

"Glad you enjoyed yourself," he says. "Or sounded like it, anyway."

She laughs fully this time, pushing off the bed to use the loo, "Yeah, I did."

The light in the bathroom is bright and she stares at herself in the mirror a few moments, the flush of her cheeks, the red marks across her shoulders, and thinks of the first time she'd been in this room, changing into the Doctor's football uniform and trying not to snoop. She could never have imagined then that this is how they'd end up, but it's amazing and she can't help watching in the mirror a moment longer as a wide smile spreads across her face.

When she gets back to the bed, the Doctor hops off it, dropping a kiss on her forehead before moving to use the loo himself. She picks up his shirt from where it'd been dropped and buttons a few buttons before locating and slipping on her knickers. She grabs the Doctor's pants as well, setting them on the edge of the bed, so he doesn't need to search if he wants them, and gets under the covers.

He pulls them on when he returns, before moving to join her in the bed, spooning up behind her and dropping his arm around her waist.

"I'm tired," he says.

She scoots back into him, resting her hand over his, "Long day."

"Mmm," he agrees. "Don't ever want to repeat that middle part, but the ending was fantastic."

She tightens her fingers briefly and he nuzzles his nose through her hair, dropping a final kiss on the back of her neck.

"Happy Halloween, Doctor," she says.

"And to you, too, _Doctor_ ," he says. "Might have you wear that costume in the morning, just to take it off again. Completely brilliant, all form-fitting and sexy and -- hmm -- brown…"

His voice trails off into sleep at the end, and Rose closes her eyes, following suit.

Seven hours later, she's got his tie back on, and not a stitch more.

The same is true for him and his hat.

* * *


End file.
